


A Familiar Face

by DoctorSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Badass Arya, Braavos, Gen, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Psychological Drama, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sisters, Spoilers for Book 6 - The Winds of Winter, Stark Siblings - Freeform, Suicide, The House of Black and White, faceless men - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSnow/pseuds/DoctorSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark gets thrown out of the House of Black and White and takes to wandering the streets of Braavos. There, she chances upon a familiar face, causing an unexpected chain of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arya

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic. Please share your views.
> 
> All Characters owned by GRRM. I own nothing.

She was running, again. _Why am I always running?_

She had returned to the House of Black and White to confess her actions and, hopefully, get her face back. When she arrived there, she saw that the Kindly Man already knew. He gave her a reproachful look, the same look he had given her a thousand times over whenever she lied. But there was no need for that now. She knew her time here was at an end. The House of Black and White was no place for Arya Stark. _Fair enough. I’m done pretending._

They gave her back her face. After that, the Kindly Man spoke to her. “I had hoped I was wrong. But I can see the truth now. Were you ever No One?”

She bit her lip. “No.”

He then gave her a sad smile, so sad it almost felt genuine. “A lie. A sad little lie.” He looked away. “Go on. You may leave us.”

“Where do I go?”

“Anywhere but here.” He started walking towards the black pool, resigning her to her fate.

“Wait.” She started following him. “You’re just letting me walk out of here? Aren’t you afraid I’ll talk of the things I’ve seen?”

He stopped and turned to look at her, seemingly scrutinizing her appearance. “If I truly believed you would talk, do you think you’d be standing here, talking to me?”

_No_ , she thought. _And who would believe me if I did?_

Once she walked out the ebony and weirwood doors, she was filled with an ominous sense of fear _._ It felt too easy. _How can he be sure I won’t tell a soul of what I saw?_ Unless… _Don’t be stupid, girl. If he wanted to kill you he could have done it right then._ All the same, she would have to be on her toes now. If she had to watch over her back for the rest of her life, so be it. Better that than dead. She felt the hilt of Needle hanging from her hip and let her hand slide over it, rubbing the pommel. _Let them come_ , she thought. _Let them come, and I’ll stick them with the pointy end._

She had returned to Brusco’s house by the canal in hopes that he would take her back. Instead, he shooed her away, grumbling about her being unreliable. That wasn’t fair _. I was always a good worker._ Talea and Brea watched wistfully as she waved them goodbye and trudged along the canal.

Over the next few weeks, she had taken to living on the streets of Braavos. _I’m going back to my old ways_ , she thought, as she sunk her teeth into a fat pigeon.  She visited Ragman’s Harbor every day for news across the narrow sea. The same people who laughed and smiled at Cat of the Canals now screwed up their noses whenever she walked by. She didn’t care. She had always been smelly. It was just a different smell now.

Most of the ships from Westeros were anchored for the time being.  They spoke of raging storms and pirates swarming the Narrow Sea, that it would be better to wait a few more days. The ship of the envoy with the chicken breast was still moored at Ragman’s Harbor. She could go to King’s Landing. Queen Cersei would be there. She could give her the gift, though it didn’t seem to matter much now. But the old man showed no sign of leaving as of yet. She remembered a conversation she overheard as Mercy, that the queen would have his head if he returned empty-handed. There was also the matter of the dead guard. The City Watch had found him floating face down in the canal, armor and all. His companion had seen him leave with her. _No, that was Mercy, you stupid. They’re looking for Mercy._

She could also go to Jon. _I hope he is well._  It had been so long, she wondered as she climbed a building along the canal. She had taken to sleeping on terraces of a night. The streets weren’t particularly safe at night with swaggering bravos about with their thin blades, looking for spoils. Not that she was afraid.  

She had heard of snowfall in the Riverlands. She had seen it first. The dreams came to her every night. She was never hungry in her dreams. She always found prey. It was only during the day that she starved. Now and then someone would throw a coin her way and she would be satiated for a day or two. She had learned to be thrifty with her coin. There were no bowls of brown here. This wasn’t Flea Bottom. Beggars and thieves weren’t loved in Braavos. She cursed herself, a tear rolling down her cheek. The Kindly Man could have put her on a ship back to Westeros. He owed her that much, at least. _He doesn’t owe you anything_ , a small voice in her head replied. They offered to teach her their arts. All they expected in return was her obedience. Well, that and her identity. She could understand why they wouldn’t want her around. But that didn’t make her feel any better. The terrace of this particular building offered a panoramic view of the northern part of Braavos, with the Sealord’s Palace and the Purple Harbor before her and the Titan of Braavos in the distance. If she didn’t feel so helpless, she might have appreciated the view. _Am I going to be stuck here the rest of my life?_

Night came and went. She rode down an aurochs in her dreams, ripping it limb from limb, feasting on its meat as her pack waited for her to finish. When day finally came, she made her way to the Purple Harbor. Today was a particularly cloudy day. She sat by the seaside watching the ships come and go, counting subconsciously. She spotted the eighth ship before it sailed through the Titan’s legs. The Iron Bank, she realized, recognizing the sails. She watched idly as the anchor dropped and a small boat was lowered. As the boat landed ashore, a man dressed in knight’s garb was the first to alight. He was a big man, with hair so blond it almost looked white. She gave up trying to recognize the sigil. _It’s not one that I know_ , she conceded. _He must be a southron knight. What’s he doing so far from home?_

The knight made his way through the fish market. Leading the entourage was a tall thin man, wearing the purple garb that marked him for an emissary of the Iron Bank. Six men-at-arms bearing a fiery heart on their breastplates made up the rear. A young girl walked along with the knight. Arya made her way towards them, craning her neck for a closer look at the girl. She could have sworn she recognized her face. But that didn’t make sense. _Didn’t she die in King’s Landing?_ Deciding to get a better look, she inched closer.

“But they’ve never broken a contract. Why would they do so now?” the knight was saying.

“I have not a clue.” the emissary replied with a heavy accent.

“What about the Second Sons? The Windblown?” the knight asked, hopefully.

“Still in Slaver’s Bay, from what I just heard.”

“What am I to do? I have gold to pay but no sellswords to hire. Usually it’s the other way round. This is truly a bad jape.”

“There are some companies of repute in Braavos. I’m sure you’ll find the men you need.”

“Aye, I’ll find men. I know that. But where do I find 20,000 men?”

“We will discuss that later, Ser Justin. First we need to find Lady Arya a featherbed. It seems like she could use some rest.”

Lady Arya?  _That’s not her_ , she wanted to shout. But she silently followed.

They arrived at a three-storey inn at the edge of the canal. Three of them went in, while the guards waited without. Arya hid behind a wall and angled her head closer to hear them better.

“Think she needs a bedwarmer? She sure could use one. All she did on the ship was mope.” one of the guards was saying.

“No. This one’s done with men. The Bastard and the Leech Lord saw to that.”She remembered the conversation she heard at the Crossroads Inn. It all made sense now. The Boltons probably thought _she_ was Arya. Everyone probably thought her for Arya. _But why?_ She looked nothing like her.

“Lost a brother too. Bet that hit her hard.” Arya’s heart caught in her throat. _Were they talking about Jon?_ She edged closer.

“Bunch of traitors ‘n thieves, them crows. The Lord Commander was the best of the lot.”

_No._ She suddenly felt the strength leave her legs. Before she knew it, she was on the ground, weeping. _No, please don’t take Jon from me. He’s all I have left._ If she had heard it right, Jon’s men had seemingly turned on him. _The Night’s Watch has turned into a joke. They’re all like Dareon now._ She couldn’t trust the guards. Perhaps they were wrong _._ _He can’t be dead._ No, she wouldn’t believe it. Not until she was absolutely certain. She wiped her tears and waited. _There is only one way to find out._

Soon enough, Ser Justin and the emissary exited the inn and headed in the direction of the Sealord’s Palace. The guards followed suit. Clearly they thought ‘Lady Arya’ was safe enough not to warrant a protective detail.

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Jeyne

Hard as she tried, she couldn’t sleep.

She saw him whenever she closed her eyes. She tried to tell him to go, to leave her alone, but he wouldn’t listen. She sat upright, looking around her. The last light of day had left the room.  The chambers were adequate. All that she needed had been provided for.  _All that Arya Stark needed._  She didn’t know how longer she could keep up with this charade. Sooner or later, they would find out the truth and she would be set aside. That would be better than anything that followed. But she doubted it. Anyone who would recognize Arya’s face was dead. All the Starks were dead.  _Except for Sansa._  If she really did kill King Joffrey, she wouldn’t be long for this world either. The Lannisters would root her out and kill her, just like they did Lord Eddard.  _Just like they did Father._  For all she knew, she was in this for life.

She knew they intended to marry her off to one of Lord Stannis’ knights, probably even the one who brought her here.  _That wouldn’t be so bad_ , she consoled herself. Ser Justin was pleasant and kind and he never tried to have his way with her. Not once during the long journey here. That had to count for something.

She got up from the bed and hobbled towards the table by the window. Pouring herself a cup of water, she sat down on one of the chairs set up around it. What good had being Arya Stark brought her? Was this her penance for how she had treated the real Arya Stark? She remembered the times at Winterfell when she would call her Arya Horseface and neigh whenever she came near. She was probably one of the reasons the sisters never got along. Truth be told, she sometimes felt jealous of her. Arya was nothing a lady was supposed to be, despite being highborn. Jeyne was the steward’s daughter, sure, but at least she carried herself as a young lady would.

When the black brothers had informed them of Jon Snow’s death, she didn’t know how to react. They were all looking at her keenly, like they expected her to burst out crying any moment. She couldn’t will herself to weep, even if she wanted to. She had exhausted all her tears. Instead, she looked down at the snow and nodded. Ser Justin then started apologizing how he couldn’t take her to Castle Black, that it was no safe place for her and that they would have to make for Eastwatch.

Her hand moved up to feel her nose. The frostbite had turned the tip of her nose black. She was glad she didn’t lose it, like Theon said she would. After the ordeal she had suffered, that would have been too much to bear.

A few hours into the night, she woke up with a start. It had been a pleasant dream this time, one of the rare few times that happened nowadays. Before she could settle back down, her hair was roughly yanked back. She felt cold steel at her exposed throat. She shuddered.  _He has found me. He has come to take me back._ She waited with bated breath, not knowing what to do.  _Just cut my throat and be done with it._  Death would merely be reprieve from this paltry excuse of a life.

The voice that spoke belonged to a girl.  _That voice._  “Don’t call for help. I don’t want to kill you.”

 

* * *

 

 

She sat down at the foot of the bed. Jeyne was flabbergasted.  _Am I still dreaming?_ She thought not, because it felt too real. Yes, she was still filthy. Her hair was cropped short, she was taller and had really grown into her features.  _Not Arya Horseface anymore._  There was no mistaking those grey eyes. Yes, this was definitely Arya Stark. Why had she sought her out? To take back her identity? She couldn’t even begin to grasp the absurdity of the situation. And what was she doing in Braavos?

She laughed.

It came unbidden, but it struck hard. Her laugh felt almost hysterical to her. And why not? This was surely some form of a cruel joke. Here sat Arya, alive and well, seemingly unscathed and there she was, living under her name and suffering every day under the Boltons. She should have been careful what she wished for.

When her laughter subsided, she looked her over, properly this time. She was dressed in breeches and tunic, with a thin blade hanging from her right hip and the dagger she used to silence her sheathed on her left. If she had found her show of laughter odd, her face showed no sign of it.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“I told you. I don’t want to kill you.”

“Then why are you here? Come back to take your identity? You’re welcome to it. Being you has gotten me nothing but misery. Lord Baelish said I would have a smooth life as Arya Stark. He couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“Baelish?” asked Arya, seemingly confused.

“Yes, Petyr Baelish.  _Littlefinger_.” She replied, irritated now. “Have you been living under a rock this whole time? Do you even know what’s happening in the Seven Kingdoms? Do you even know wha-”

“Is my brother dead?”

“That was what I heard.”  _Where had she heard about that?_

“Heard from who?”

“Black brothers riding south.” She answered ruefully. “They said the Lord Commander’s men turned on him when he spoke of riding south to rescue his sister. They fled to escape the carnage.”

“Jon.” She whispered, misty-eyed. “Tell me everything. How?”

“He-he was stabbed.” She finished, not sure how to continue. “King Stannis sent us on our way to Castle Black so that I – I mean, Arya could be reunited with Jon. But after we met the men on our way, we changed course for Eastwatch.”

“So you didn’t see it happen?” she asked, visibly relieved, though Jeyne wasn’t sure it was a question. “Good. He might still be alive.”

She couldn’t hold it in any longer. ”Arya, where were you? Everyone thought you were dead.”

“Well,” said Arya, getting up from the bed, “clearly I’m not. What about my sister?”

“She escaped King’s Landing the day King Joffrey died. No one has heard from her since.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing.” She conceded.

They were like this for a time. Jeyne sitting on her bed, with the sheets wrapped up to her neck. Arya standing there, her face revealing nothing. After what seemed like a long while, Arya broke the silence.

“I’m sorry for what they did to you.”

“It’s done. There’s no going back now.” She managed.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jeyne thought long and hard before she finally answered. “Yes,” she said, her eyes resting on Arya’s dagger hanging from her hip.  _The gods have given me a gift._  “Yes, there is.”


	3. Arya II

_The air reeked of man-flesh._

_She trotted towards the scent noiselessly, hoping to catch them unawares. Her pack followed, though they weren’t much for stealth. She growled at them to shut them up, hoping they’d get the hint. But they rarely listened nowadays. While they still followed her for her strength, once they were accustomed to the taste of man-flesh, they had ceased to obey. It didn’t matter as long as she still led them._

_They came upon the men in a clearing._

_She was the first to attack. Her pack followed. The men clumsily drew their steel claws in defense, but they were simply too slow for her. She caught the first one by the throat, sinking her teeth deep into his skin. He yielded under her firm grip, falling to the ground. He was dead before she could even draw blood properly. She tore out a chunk of flesh, devouring, while a voice emanated, seemingly from the fresh corpse._

“Who are you?”

She shot up. The night breeze caressed her face. The sky was a cloudy purple, unlike the clear skies in the woods. The taste of blood was still in her mouth, slowly waning.

“Arya.” She replied stiffly.

“Just so.” The kindly man replied.

“What do you want? I was eating.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she realized. _I meant to say sleeping._

“So you were.” He sounded surprised.

He kept staring at her, his expression blank. It was a while before she grew impatient.

“Well?”

“Follow me.”

She followed him.

When they arrived back at the House of Black and White, she grew pensive. What did he want from her now? She had proven that she was unworthy of their ranks. What could they possibly want to do with her now? Had he found out about Jeyne? _Is that why he asked me here?_ _So that he can chastise me to death?_ She smirked at the thought.

She followed him to the dining hall. He beckoned her to sit down, while he sat facing her.

“Eat. You must be hungry.”

She picked up a piece of bread, sniffing suspiciously, and looked at him.

He smiled. “There are better, more honorable ways of killing than poison.”

“What do you care about honor?” She shot back. “You wouldn’t shy from poison if it got the job done.”

“No, I wouldn’t. But I have no intention of harming you, I assure you.”

She scoffed at that. But she still ate. She hadn’t eaten this well since she had left the House.

After the meal, she followed him to the black pool. He took a seat by the precipice. Taking that for a sign, she did the same.

“You did that poor girl a great favor.”

 _So he did know._ ” It was the least I could do. She had suffered under my name.”

“Does that irk you? That she lived under your name.”

Oddly enough, it did. She herself had been ransomed and kidnapped as Arya Stark. Seeing what had happened to Jeyne had convinced her that leaving Arya behind was probably for the best. But she couldn’t let go of who she was. Not while her family still lived _. Or what’s left of them, at least._ “I suppose it does. But I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Hmm.” He nodded as if to show assent. “The knight is convinced that the girl took her own life in a fit of grief. The City Watch isn’t questioning it. Nothing points to a second party. I’m impressed. It appears that I have underestimated you.”

_I don’t like where this is going._

“I thought I wasn’t worthy of becoming a Faceless Man. You made that abundantly clear.”

“So I did. And I stand by it. You will never become No One. But that doesn’t mean you can’t serve.”

She bit her lip. “And what if I don’t want to?”

“Then you are welcome to leave. I won’t stop you.” He got up. “Either way, you may sleep here for the night. On the morrow, you must decide.”

With that, he walked out of the hall.

She stayed by the pool for a long while after. _How will I serve_ , she thought as she stared into the murky depths of the black pool. A cup lay by her side. She picked it up, fidgeting with its edges. Why would they let her stay? She had killed twice of her own accord. Surely that amounted to death for anyone else serving the House. _Only death may pay for life._ But why had she been spared? What was so special about her? Well, there was her name…. _my name! That’s it, isn’t it?_ They couldn’t have a Stark running loose now, could they? She supposed they meant to use her as they would. Or was it really all that straightforward? Obviously he expected something of her. He wouldn’t keep her around if he didn’t. She would have to stay to find out.

The next morning, she informed the kindly man of her decision.


	4. Arya III

If she had thought training under Syrio was hard, it was nothing compared to training under Malko.

The Braavosi spent four hours with her, every day. They were finally teaching her to fight. In nigh on a year, she had perfected her water dancing, and had become quite adept at throwing knives. She had also taken to the bow. She remembered her time as a captive of the Brotherhood. Anguy’s bow was too big for her then. It would still be quite big but at least she would be strong enough to draw it. He also had her train with her right hand so that she would not be at a disadvantage.

“You have two hands. Use both of them.” He often said in his thick Braavosi accent.

She raised Needle in defense as he brought his larger blade down on her, taking a step behind. It wasn’t all about attacking, she had learnt as she managed to hold him off for a few seconds before they returned to their original position. Before Malko, she had never trained with live steel. Syrio had meant to do so with her at Winterfell, but he was taken from her too soon.

She flopped down on the hard floor, struggling to catch her breath. Today had been particularly tiring. After her usual training, Malko had her do several exercises. She didn’t feel so strong now. She just felt exhausted.

With some effort, she stood up and headed for the door. The kindly man stood waiting for her, a smile on his wrinkled face.

“You seem to be getting better. Malko tells me that you’re ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

He tittered. “Come with me, child.”

They climbed up the steps back to the room with the pool, where they had so many of their _candid_ conversations.

“Surely you didn’t think this was all for naught? We weren’t training you so that you could cross names off your list. You come from a noble house. We intended to use that in our favor as and when the opportunity presented itself.”

She sighed. _I already know that_ , she might have said. “What would you have me do?”

The kindly man motioned her to sit next to him. “Tell me child, how long is it since you set foot outside the House of Black and White?”

She thought back. “Three, four months, probably. I’m not sure.”

“Then you couldn’t possibly know.” The kindly man said. “Your family home, Winterfell. There was a great battle. It changed hands thrice before returning into the hands of a Stark.”

 _A Stark?_ She frowned.“Who?”

“Your sister, Sansa Stark.”

A flurry of thoughts passed through her head. She wanted to go to her, her only living kin. _Sansa can’t rule alone, she never had a head for figures. She will need help._ Of all her siblings, Sansa was the last one Arya thought she would ever see again. Jon was long gone. She hadn’t heard a thing about him since her conversation with Jeyne. Bran and Rickon were probably dead, too. She had never expected Sansa to be the one to make it out alive. Perhaps she had changed. _The gods know_ _I have._

She looked hard at the kindly man, her eyes fixed on his, gazing into their depths. She could sense that there was something he wasn’t telling her. Did this mean that she was free to go? Could she finally be reunited with her lost kin? She thought back to the last eight months since she had returned. All her training – the combat, the lying games, the poisons, everything had built up to this moment. She wasn’t stupid. She knew they always had a price for everything. And now they were exacting it. She was afraid of what he might say next, and that it might have something to do with Sansa.

“Your sister’s name has been offered up to the Many-Faced God.”

 _And there it is_. It was so typical. Once a Stark came out into the open, they were no longer safe. She should have stayed in hiding, wherever she was. The kindly man’s face gave away nothing. “You’re lying.”

“Would that I were.” He said, wearily.

She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t. “What do you intend to do about it?”

“What we always do.”

“Who gave you her name? Was it Cersei Lannister?” She asked him, raising her voice. “It has to be Cersei. What was the promised price? Half the gold in Casterly Rock? Or all of it?” Her blood was boiling. “Send me to King’s Landing. I’ll bring you her head. But leave Sansa out of this.”

“It does not work that way, child.” The kindly man said with a pained expression on his face.

“Please. Please don’t do this.” She fell at his feet, weeping profusely. “She’s my sister. My only family. Offer me up. Let her live.”

How long she stayed there, the gods only knew. Her tears had drenched his feet. She got up with difficulty and stood before the kindly man, hating everything about him. The decision had been made. She would be the one to give the gift. There was nothing she could do about it. _Except this_.

She flew at him.

Her knife was drawn, aiming for his throat. Instead, she found herself sprawled on the ground, with a searing pain in her chest. He was too fast for her. She couldn’t possibly believe he was really an old man.

“Stop this game, child. You would be doing her a favor. The many-faced god wills it.”

“No, he doesn’t.” She spat back. “How would I be doing _her_ a favor?”

“If not you, someone else will give the gift.”

“Not if I can help it.” She grabbed the nearest torch and threw it at him, glaring as she watched his robe catch fire, the smoky flames engulfing him.

His screams could still be heard as she ran out the doors into the night.


	5. Arya IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya rides for Winterfell, running into an old friend along the way.

The woods were cloaked in darkness.

Arya edged her horse through the thick undergrowth. She was certain that if she kept following the course of the White Knife north, she would soon arrive at Winterfell. She couldn’t afford to slow down. Her horse whickered beneath her. She patted his head. _We do need to rest._ She had stolen him from a farm boy near White Harbor. He had protested, but he held his tongue when she pointed Needle at his throat. If she kept going this way, the horse would soon tire out and she would have to continue on foot.

Though she had escaped, strangely enough, she didn’t feel free. This endeavor felt more like a giant mistake. She could have left Braavos under the guise of performing her task, staying a step ahead of them. But her emotions got the better of her. She didn’t know she had any left. Perhaps this was her wake-up call; to show her who she really was. And to think that Sansa was her salvation…. There was no love lost between them. They had never gotten along as children. She would be busy with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel, giggling and talking about boys, while Arya would be left to herself. The boys wouldn’t indulge her either. She had tried to be like the other girls. For a time. She was glad she didn’t succeed, though. _I wouldn’t have been able to survive the way I did_. All the same, she hoped she would be able to mend broken bridges with her long-lost sister. _That is, if she isn’t the airhead she used to be._ Hopefully, there would be time for that. She knew there would be fallout for her transgressions. _For the both of us_. If killing the principal elder of her order didn’t have repercussions, she didn’t know what would.

She camped for the night under a massive sentinel. The moon shone brightly above. She ate some berries to satiate her hunger. The air was so cold she could see her icy breath, but she dare not light a fire. The ground was packed with snow. The woods were eerily quiet, save for the incessant chirping of crickets and the gurgling of the White Knife in the distance. Yawning, she curled up against the sentinel and closed her eyes, whispering under her breath “ _Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, Queen Cersei. Valar Morghulis_.”

She woke to a shuffling sound.

In the pale morning light, she made out three figures walking towards her. They seemed like vagrants. Shoddily dressed, they didn’t seem to carry any weapons on them.

“Well, what have we here?” one of them said.

“Little ladies shouldn’t be wandering out alone like this.” Another drawled.

She felt for Needle’s hilt, her right hand rubbing her tired eyes. “Go on your way. Leave me alone.”

“Don’t be afraid, little lady. Come with us. We’ll keep you warm.” The first man said, eyes hungrily searching her. “Is that a sword there? Always fancied me a nice sword.” He was mere feet from her now.

Drawing Needle, she stood up. “That’s close enough.”

The men started laughing. Two of them drew dirks. _That’s your cue_ , she told herself as she gutted him before he could make a move. He fell in a heap, bleeding into the snow.

The next one was quicker, but not quick enough. She blocked his thrust with Needle, skipping safely out of reach. On his next thrust, she brought down her sword hard on his knuckles, disarming him. He knelt on the ground, clutching his bloody hand, crying out in pain. She then drew her own dagger, stabbing him in the eye, watching his whole body convulse before he joined his friend.

The third man stood wide-eyed in front of her, taking a step back. She could smell his fear. He wasn’t armed. At least, he didn’t seem to be. “I’ll make this quick” She told him earnestly, kneeling down to remove the dagger from his companion’s eye. However, before she could throw it at him, a flash of grey enveloped him, hurling him to the ground. _A gigantic she-wolf, the size of a pony_. She watched in amazement as she tore out the man’s throat. The wolf from her dreams. _Nymeria_.

She walked slowly towards her, trying her best not to make any sudden movements. Nymeria looked up from her kill. She could taste the blood of the man she had just killed. It wasn’t something she could explain, but she knew that her connection with her wolf was much deeper. It felt like one of Old Nan’s stories of wargs and skinchangers. _It’s why I could sense her, even in Braavos. We are one, she and I._ She looked keenly into her golden eyes, her hand outstretched, feeling pained about the way they had parted.

Nymeria trotted towards her, sniffing her hand. _She’s so big now._ She playfully nipped at her fingers and licked the blood from her hand. “I missed you, girl” She said, running her cheek over her fur. “I had it under control, you know.”

Nymeria cocked her head as Arya scratched her under the ears. She then turned her head towards the bushes where Arya could see numerous pairs of yellow eyes staring back at her. _Her pack_. She then looked back at Arya, as if awaiting her consent.

“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.” She egged her on. “I need to find my pack too.”


	6. Sansa

The wind blew her cowl back as she walked out to the courtyard. The castle was covered in snow. Winter had struck hard, but the Starks would endure, thought Sansa. She ran a hand over her stomach. _I will never have children,_ she decided. Not after what Littlefinger had done to her. She would make him suffer for it. The thought gave her some solace.

She had grown to love Harry, despite his flaws. After Sweetrobin’s death, she had married Harry as Sansa Stark, in all her red-headed glory. Their marriage lasted only a few months, but those were good times. Harry rode north with her to Winterfell, after it was finally free of the war. But Littlefinger had never been satisfied. Once he had one thing, he wanted another. After disposing of Harry, he married her by force, effectively ruling Winterfell and the North in her name.  Sansa was no more than a prisoner in her own home.

It pained her to think of Arya, who had been in the same place a year before, under Bolton’s bastard. Stannis’ men had brought her bones back from Braavos, where they said she had taken her life. She had not wanted to believe it. Arya was strong, stronger than her. She wouldn’t have meekly submitted to Littlefinger, as Sansa had. She had her buried in the crypts beneath Winterfell. The only one of her family whose remains made it back home _._ The gods alone knew where she could find Jon. _I am all alone in this world now._

With Littlefinger as overseer, Winterfell had been restored to much of its former glory. The glass garden was fully functional now, providing the kitchens with fresh fruits and vegetables for the long winter. The library tower had been restocked with various old volumes procured by Littlefinger. She often found solace in books nowadays. She remembered her short-lived marriage to Lord Tyrion. He would often read into the early hours of the morning with nothing but a candle and a flagon of Dornish red to keep him company.

She made her way back upstairs, with a copy of _The Dance of the Dragons_ under her arm. Her chambers were in disarray. Petyr was rummaging through her belongings, having made a mess in the process. He looked up as he heard her come.

“Care to tell me why you have this in your trunk, sweetling?” He held out a tin box.

She gulped. She thought she had done a good job hiding it. _  
_

“I—It’s not— “

“Save your breath, sweetling. I know moon tea when I see it. What I don’t understand is why you have it in your trunk.” He stood in front of her, his face inches from her own. “Does the Lady of Winterfell not want her womb to quicken?” He asked her, his voice a deathly rasp.

“Not with your worm inside it.” She answered defiantly, immediately regretting her words, for she knew what was to follow.

He was rougher than usual tonight. She had learnt to stop struggling, accepting the pain, but couldn’t help herself sometimes. There was too much of her mother in her. She looked him over, with his scar from throat to groin. A gift from her uncle Brandon. _I would give him a fresh one if I could._ She wondered if this had been his plan all along – to seize control of Winterfell and the North, when he had her deluded aunt kill her own husband and plant the seeds of doubt in her lady mother’s mind. She was certain now that Littlefinger had a major role to play in her father’s death and the downfall of House Stark. _I didn’t make things any better for Father either_ , she thought ruefully, as Littlefinger breathed erratically into her hair, whispering her mother’s name. _I should have just obeyed him and left with Arya on that ship. Instead, I went to the queen and sealed his fate._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a wild coughing fit from Littlefinger.

She got up from the bed, moving away from him, watching intently. In between coughs, he managed to tell her to call the maester. She made to leave, slipping into her robe, but stopped when she saw a dart protruding from his back. _Poison_. She smirked, sitting back down. _It’s just a matter of time, and I have the best seat_. _I only wish I knew who my savior was._ Littlefinger was on the floor now, heaving, retching, beating his fists bloody. She picked up his knife by the bedside. _Just in case._

In a matter of seconds, Littlefinger lay still on the rushes, white foam oozing from his mouth. To be honest, it felt a little underwhelming. She would have done it herself, in time; though she supposed it didn’t matter now. She would find the person who did this for her, and she would kiss him on the lips, beggar or knight. _My Florian_. She walked to where he lay, standing over him for a while, savoring the sight. “Thank you, whoever you are.” She spoke into the silence. She then let out a scream, shrill and loud.

Somewhere, deep in her mind, she thought she heard Arya laughing.


	7. Arya V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sisters finally meet.

She sat silently by the black pool under the heart tree.

“Why didn’t you protect her, you old gods?” She glared at the face carved into the giant weirwood, her eyes blurry with tears. “Why didn’t you? She was the Stark in Winterfell.”

She still couldn’t get the picture out of her mind. Sansa, writhing under that lecherous bastard, calling her ‘Cat’. He had the nerve to utter her mother’s name, after all this time. _Uncle Brandon should have chopped off his balls too_. Sansa was trying her best to be disconnected, but she was failing. Arya had spent enough time at Winterfell to understand the situation. Sansa had married Littlefinger. _First Joffrey, then the Imp, and now this cunt_. _Sansa has terrible taste in men_. But this seemed to be a marriage of convenience. And judging by the look on Sansa’s face and her general demeanor around Winterfell, she didn’t look too happy. There was no light in her sky-blue eyes. They had the look of someone who had seen the horrors of the real world. There was a deathly aura to them. _Just like mine_.

She wished she had come sooner. At the very least, she could have saved her a few months of suffering. Littlefinger really was a devious person. He had successfully passed Jeyne off as her, giving the Boltons their Stark bride. Now everyone in Westeros definitely thought her for dead. Perhaps she could stay dead. There was, after all, a certain safety to being dead.

Was this what the kindly man meant when he told her that she would be doing Sansa a favor? Did he know what she had been going through? If so, why didn’t he tell her about it? Were they actually acting of their own accord? _No, that’s ridiculous. It’s Cersei_. She had no doubt. And why was it so important that Arya herself give the gift? She would probably never know _._ It couldn’t have been a test, of that she was sure. She was way past fooling them now. _If not you, someone else will give the gift._ Those were the kindly man’s last words to her. They would send another servant to kill Sansa. _And me._ She had to be ready for them, whenever they came. More darts wouldn’t do the trick this time.

She picked up a stone, twiddling it in calloused hands, and chucked it into the black pool, watching the ripples spread across its expanse. The leaves were whispering, soft as a sigh. She couldn’t help but snigger when Sansa had screamed. It was an act, she knew, but it was unexpected. Perhaps, in her mind, she still pictured Sansa as incapable of deceit and cunning. Sansa had changed. She was no longer the empty-headed girl who had left Winterfell at thirteen. She seemed hardened by her experiences, though Arya shuddered to think what she must have been through all these years. If this was what she had to undergo at King’s Landing, Arya had been way better off.

Littlefinger’s obsession aside, she could understand why people would confuse Sansa for their lady mother. If anything, she looked more beautiful than her. She was tall, taller than Arya, who had somewhat of a growth spurt this past year. Her auburn-red hair flowed down her shoulders to the small of her back. She seemed perfectly at home in her northern dress, as compared to her stupid southron gowns in King’s Landing. She seemed to have taken on some of their mother’s fierceness too. Lady Catelyn may have been born a Tully, but she was a wolf at heart.

She had wanted to reveal herself to Sansa right then, embrace her, kiss her on the cheeks and beg her pardons like a proper little lady. But she stopped herself. It might have been too much of a shock for Sansa. _And that scream sealed the deal._ It didn’t matter. There would be enough time for that later.

Soundlessly, she made her way outside. It was still dark. She hid in the stables, where she could watch the commotion unfold. Half the horses had been ridden out of the castle gates, in search of Lord Baelish’s killer. The Lady Stark was probably still in her chambers, protected by northern soldiers. The whole castle was awake. _Fat chance of meeting her in private now._ She wondered how long this mummer’s farce would last. Surely Littlefinger wasn’t dearly loved in the North.

She didn’t know how long he had been there. By the time she realized, it was too late.

 

* * *

 

They half-dragged, half-carried her into the Great Hall. Her weapons were seized. Or at least, the ones visible to the naked eye. They hadn’t found her finger knives, the dirk sheathed down her back or the knives under her boots. It made no matter. She wouldn’t need them. Not here. She was home. All she had to do now was wait for Sansa, which seemed to take forever.

Finally, Sansa arrived. Flanked by guards on either side, she made her way to the high table and seated herself at the center. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, but there was a glow in her face which had been missing a while back.

“Milady, we found this urchin in the stables.” The guard to her left spoke. “She might have had a hand in Lord Baelish’s death.”

Sansa cast her gaze upon her. For a moment, their eyes met. She seemed confused for a few seconds, then recoiled as if she had seen a ghost.

“Milady?”

Sansa spoke. Her voice was firm, yet Arya could feel it quivering. “Surely _that_ isn’t the best your men could turn up, Captain?”

”Mil – “

“That’ll be enough for tonight, Captain. Don’t tell me you called me out of mourning to show me a harmless little girl in rags.”

“She’s far from harmless, milady.” Another guard spoke up. “We found a sword and two daggers on her.” He held out Needle for her to inspect.

Sansa held Needle in her hand, examining the blade. “This is Mikken’s mark.” She said, looking right at her, a mix of fear and anticipation in her eyes. “How did you come by this blade?”

Arya smiled. “My half-brother gifted it to me.”

That proved to be too much for Sansa. Her eyes filled with tears as she got up from the table and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned back. “Send her up to my chambers.”

Arya was led up to her sister’s chambers. After they brought her in, Sansa asked the guards and maids to leave.

“But, milady – “

“That was a command. If she tries to harm me, I will call out for help. Then you can say you told me so.”

They left without another word. Sansa shut the door behind them. When she turned back to look at Arya, she still had the look of shock in her eyes when she first saw her.

“A-Arya?” 

“Milady.” Arya replied, bowing mockingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The continuation will be through Sansa's POV.


	8. Sansa II

They stared at each other in silence. Sansa couldn’t believe her eyes. There was no mistaking the matted crow’s nest of hair, the masculine garb, and those grey eyes. Her father’s eyes. Her devilish smile in the hall had been enough confirmation. She was so relieved that she wasn’t alone anymore. She wanted to kiss and hug her and give her all the attention she deserved, which she never had when they were younger. But she also felt cheated. _If Arya’s here, then who did I bury?_

She slapped her.

“ _Where were you_?” she thundered. Arya looked back at her, shock and hurt clear on her features. But Sansa was too livid to care. “ _I buried you! I mourned you_!” she cried, staring daggers at the girl she barely knew. “ _I wept for you_!” Sansa slumped on the floor, in tears. She knew she should be happy that her little sister was alive and right in front of her. And she was. But she couldn’t forget the sister she had lost, or the bones she had buried in the crypt. She couldn’t forget the time she had spent grieving for her, that she was still grieving.  A myriad of emotions - rage, relief, joy, confusion and fear threatened to overwhelm her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “That wasn’t me, Sansa.”          

 _Clearly not_. “Do you know who it was?” she asked, dreading the answer.

She was greeted by silence for a few seconds before Arya spoke. “Jeyne Poole.” When she didn’t respond, Arya continued. “The steward’s – “

“I know who Jeyne Poole is.” She said, looking straight at her. Jeyne was a dear friend. She was sad to have lost her, but she had lost many people along the way. “Pray tell me, how did that come to pass?”

“Littlefinger passed her off as me and married her to Bolton’s bastard. She escaped to Braavos.”

 _Littlefinger_. He had known the truth when they brought Jeyne’s remains from across the sea. But he didn’t say a word. He could have given her some hope, instead of letting her grieve. _I wish I could bring him back to life so I could kill him myself_. Arya had taken that away from her. _She also gave you a new life, you ignorant prick_. “And how do you know all this?”

“I met her there.”

She furrowed her brow. Arya, in Braavos? Is that where she had been all these years? “How did she die?”

Arya looked uneasy. “She asked me for the gift. I gave it to her.”

“The gift?” _It could only mean one thing_ , she thought, realization dawning on her. “So you killed her?” she asked, fearful now. “Are you here to kill me as well?”

Arya was clearly wounded by that. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m sorry, have I hurt you? Do you feel offended? You have no idea how I feel, right this moment. Have you ever buried someone you thought your kin, and spent months mourning them only to have them show up alive and well? Not to mention, a cold-blooded killer.” It was rushing out of her, like a raging storm. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. My little sister probably died somewhere along the way.”

Arya burst into tears. Doubtless, this was not the kind of reunion she had wished for. In that moment, Sansa knew that she had spoken too much too callously. _I am a terrible person_.

“I’m sorry.” She wailed. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I always ruined everything. I’m sorry for Lady. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner to protect you from that lecher–“

“Hush.” Sansa went to her and wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in a tight hug. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.” She sobbed into her hair. “I’m sorry for a lot of things too.”

Arya returned the hug. They were in each other’s arms for a long while. _The gods have finally returned her to me_. She wouldn’t let her out of her sight, not ever. She kissed her dirty hair, reveling in its earthy scent. “I can’t be mad at you for staying alive.” She whispered. “You did what you had to do to survive. I know I have.” Hesitantly, Sansa pulled back from the hug to look her over. She had grown taller, much taller since she last saw her. There was a beauty to her face, almost feral, a likeness to Aunt Lyanna. _A real wolf_. Her slap had left red streaks on her cheek. “I’m sorry I slapped you.” She said, caressing her cheek. She then bent down to kiss her on the lips.

“What was that for?” asked Arya, surprised.

“You saved me, little sister.”

She frowned. “I should have come sooner.”

“It’s all right now. He’s gone. If he comes back, we’ll kill him together.” They giggled, like the children they used to be. “That was you laughing when I screamed, wasn’t it? I didn’t imagine it.” Arya gave a sly smile.

“How long have you been in Winterfell?” she asked Arya.

“Three days.”

“Three days! Gods be good, Arya, where have you been sleeping?”

Arya looked at her like she was so stupid. _Oh, how I have missed you, sweet sister_. “The stables?” She feigned a yawn. “Which reminds me…”

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere.” She said, pulling her closer. “You’re going to share with me. Just like when we were children.” She told her, ruffling her hair. “What were you doing all the way out in Braavos?” Sansa asked, suddenly remembering.

Arya sighed. “It’s a long story.”

 


	9. Arya VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets someone from her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than usual. Enjoy!!
> 
> Thanks for the positive response. Please share your views.

They sat alone in the Great Hall, finishing their breakfast.

“Jon gave you this?” Sansa asked, her eyes misty as she held Needle in her hand.

“He did.” Arya replied, smiling as she remembered fond memories. “He told me two things, one of which was not to tell you about it.”

“Why would he – “ Sansa started. “I would have gone straight to Father if I had found out then.” She then said, chuckling.

“Father found out anyways. He then got Syrio to teach me.”

“Syrio?” Sansa asked, looking lost.

“My dancing master, stupid.”

“So that’s why you came back all bruised after every lesson. I kept thinking you were just being clumsy.”

“I was, in the beginning.” Arya said, spooning her porridge. “I got better. I would have learnt more, had the queen not sent that white-cloaked cunt.”

Sansa shook her head in disapproval. “Arya, you really should watch your language.”

Arya went on, ignoring her. “Syrio got taken away from me. Just like Father, Mother and Robb. They will all pay for it. In due time. Valar Morghulis.”

Sansa stared at her intently. “What does that mean?”

“It means that all men must die. I learnt it in Braavos. For any who serve the House of Black and White, death is a gift, a respite from all woes. We are but the instruments of the Many-faced God.”

“You’re not that anymore, Arya.” Sansa said, gently rubbing her head. “You’ve left them, haven’t you?”

Arya nodded inattentively, playing with her porridge. She hadn’t told Sansa how she ended up back here, or that she was actually here to protect her. _She doesn’t need to know about it, not now._

“I need to find Jon.”

“Arya, Jon hasn’t been heard of since….” Sansa broke off, her voice tremulous.                                                

“A year’s too long, don’t you think? If he were dead, we’d have seen a body, something at least. All we have is the word of a few crows riding south. No one knows otherwise. He’s alive. I know it.” _He has to be._

“I want to think so too, Arya. But we had best prepare ourselves for the worst if that is not the case.” Sansa whispered, holding Arya’s hand.

“So they don’t doubt me anymore?” Arya asked her.

“Of course they do. They think you’re an imposter, that your coming was too coincidental to my late husband’s death. They think I should have you tried.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth.” Sansa said, exhaling deeply. “That I was coerced into this marriage, violated every waking moment while they were too stupid to see, and that my sister ended up having to save me.”

 _She told them that?_  “They’re going to try me for killing him though.” she said, thinking out loud.

Sansa laughed. “Who’s _they_ , Arya? Are _they_ the Lady of Winterfell? Do their thoughts on the matter make a difference? You can rest assured; I’ll take care of them.” Sansa looked her over from head to toe. “You’re going to need new clothes. I can’t have you like this at the feast.”

“What feast?” Arya asked, startled.

The feast celebrating her return, apparently. It was quite a feast. Lords and ladies from other northern houses were invited to join them. Arya stood on the dais next to Sansa, holding hands. She never remembered being so nervous. Her time with the Kindly Man and the Waif hadn’t prepared her for being the center of attention. She was always one for the shadows.

“Lords and ladies” Sansa spoke aloud. “By the grace of the Seven and the old gods beyond count, my sister Arya has been returned to me. This feast has been arranged to rejoice her return.” She ushered Arya forward.

Arya took a step forward, looking around the hall of faces. Most of them she didn’t recognize. Some she remembered from her days at Winterfell. “Thank you for coming. Please enjoy the feast.”

She caught a set of eyes among the crowd. They were fixed on her, burning into her own. Eyes she didn’t recognize, but somehow she felt she knew them. He looked at her like he knew her, but she couldn’t place his face. _The assassin._ She smiled for the crowd, sitting back down.

The wine flowed freely. While the guests feasted on roasted capon, beef and a dozen other courses, she excused herself and walked out the hall into the courtyard. She made for the godswood, hoping he would take the hint. As she approached the heart tree, she heard soft footsteps behind her. She felt for Needle. If she was slow on the draw, she hoped her finger knives or darts would suffice.

She turned. The man stood feet from her, fingering the hilt of his sword. He wore a different face now. _Probably his own_. “The red god’s magic doesn’t work here. Not when the old gods are near. I saw through your glamour anyways.”

The man smiled. “A girl has grown smarter.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She knew he seemed familiar. His eyes had given him away. She returned the smile. “It’s good to see you too, Jaqen. Though the circumstances are somewhat…odd.”

“Odd?” He raised his eyebrows. “A girl killed a man’s principal elder. Odd would not be the first word to come to a man’s mind.”

“But does a man know what his elder asked a girl to do?” she asked him, seething. “He asked me to – “

“To kill your own sister, yes. But No One has no sisters.”

“I was never No One. I was always Arya Stark. The kindly man knew of that. He asked me to kill her all the same.”

“That was no reason to kill the – kindly man. This was ill done.”

“So what does a man intend to do about it?” she mocked him. “Kill a girl and her sister?”

“This is not revenge, sweet girl. We have rules. It was not for a girl to give the kindly man the gift.”

“But I gave it, didn’t I? I gave his life to the Many-Faced God in exchange for my sister’s. So consider us even.”

“The wrong life.” He took a step closer. “It would not do to mock the Many-Faced God.”

She drew Needle. “Stay back.”

He drew his own sword so quickly, all she saw was a flash of silver before Needle was knocked out of her hand.

She felt for her finger knife up her sleeve. “I saved your life, you ungrateful swine.”

“And a man paid for that. Dearly, if a girl remembers.”

“If this isn’t revenge, then what is this? I paid for life, same as you did.” She drew her knife, throwing it deftly, quicker than she thought herself capable of.

He moved in time, but the blade grazed his shoulder. He looked at the fresh cut, blood dripping from its side, coloring his tunic a dark red.

“A girl has learnt the art of throwing blades.” He said, tilting his head in a bow and sheathing his sword. He then put a hand behind his head.

She wasn’t quick enough to anticipate it. She didn’t even have to ask what it was. It was sitting right on her arm, lodged deep into her flesh. Her knees gave way first. She fell face first on the grass. Her head was swimming, her eyes blurry. She had tried to develop resilience to this particular poison, but the dose was too concentrated. She pulled it out, but it was too late. She could feel blood trickling down her nose as she clawed at the grass, groping for purchase. She hoped the little antidote she had would be sufficient to slow the spreading. If not, she would be dead in minutes. No one could then protect Sansa from him.

“A girl is fast.” He said, standing over her, a tinge of satisfaction to his voice. All she could see were his feet. “But a man is faster.”

She drew a few darts from the cavernous pocket in her cloak, jamming them into his little toe. “Not fast enough.” She croaked as she pulled at the chain around her neck and brought the vial to her lips.

The last thing she remembered seeing before she passed out was Jaqen H’ghar slumped on the damp floor of the godswood, unmoving. She then let out a deep breath, giving herself to the darkness.

She saw her father, on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, telling his lies to protect his daughter. She saw the corpse of her mother, wrinkled and bloody as she pulled her ashore. She saw her brother Jon – _Jon!_ She could sense him through his wolf, pale white as snow, with eyes red as blood. She could sense her younger brothers too; one hunted in a pack, roaming freely where the dead walked whereas the other lived among unicorns and cannibals, growing wilder by the day. She saw her sister with her coppery red hair, crying herself hoarse and holding her so tight it hurt.

She had never felt more alone in her entire life.


	10. Arya VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa admits her mistakes to Arya.

Daylight flooded the room as she woke up.

Using her hands, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She was in her sister’s chambers. But Sansa didn’t seem to be around. _That’s odd_. She had expected Sansa to be the first person she saw when she woke up. There was a lot of explaining to do.

Jaqen was definitely dead; she was sure of it. Unless he too had a vial of antidote hanging from his neck, there was no way he had survived that skirmish. She looked at her right arm to examine the damage. That part of her arm had turned a dark blue. She flexed her fingers to ensure she could move all five. The concoction had threatened to paralyze her movement. _Thank the gods he didn’t throw it at my sword hand_.

She got out of bed with some effort. It would take a few days for her to get back to her normal gait. She had been dressed up in a dull white shift which touched her knees. She hobbled towards the door. It would do her good to go out and get some fresh air. As she reached for the door handle, it flew open with force, hitting her square in the face.

When she woke up again, it was already getting dark. _How long was I out?_

“Ten days.”

 _No, that can’t be right_. She turned towards the voice. “Huh?”

“Just in case you were wondering. You’ve been sleeping for ten days.”

Sansa sat at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were puffy and sleep-deprived. She did not look too happy.

“Arya, why didn’t you tell me?”

She leaned back. “Tell you what?”

“You and that – man.“ She moved to sit next to her. “You ran away from there, didn’t you? That’s why he came after you.”

“Sansa, I –“

“What else haven’t you told me?”

 _Okay, here goes_. “They asked me to kill you.” She watched as Sansa’s eyes widened in horror. _There, I’ve said it_. _Are you_ _happy now?_ “Obviously, I refused. But the elder said that they would send others to finish the job. So I killed him and escaped. I tried to get here as fast as I could, so that I could protect you from anyone who came to finish the job.”

Sansa looked shaken. “But who would want to kill me?”

“Many people. The queen, for one.” Arya continued. “You’re the last Stark. She obviously knows you’re here. She might have asked them to give you the gift.”

“So more will come?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I won’t let them touch you.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, Arya. You almost died. The maester wasn’t even sure if you would survive.” She held her close. “I’m not deserving of your protection.”

“What are you talking about, Sansa? You’re my sister. Of course, I’ll protect you.”

She let go of her. “There’s something I need to tell you, Arya. Something important.”

Arya grew anxious. “All right. Tell me.”

She was quiet for a few moments before she started. “On the day that we were supposed to leave King’s Landing, the day Father was imprisoned,” She took a deep breath. “You had gone off to your dancing lessons. Septa Mordane wouldn’t let me bid goodbye to Joffrey. I was so distraught and angry with Father, because I thought I was in love with Joffrey and he was taking me away from him. So I sneaked away when the Septa wasn’t looking and I went to the queen.”

 _You did what?_ “Go on.”

“I told the queen all about Father’s plans to send us back home. I told her that – that I wanted to be with Joffrey and that Father wouldn’t let me. She thanked me for telling her and had me locked up while all of Father’s men got killed.” Her voice was trembling now. “It was only after they killed Father that I realized what a grave mistake I’d made.”

Arya was grim. “Grave mistake? Stupidity, more like. Look at what it cost us.”

Sansa looked at her apprehensively, not uttering a word.

She felt tears threatening to fall, but she willed them away.

Sansa started to speak. “Arya, I have repented this folly for years. And I have paid for it dearly. The Kingsguard – “

“He told us that it was a dangerous place. If you had just listened to Father, we could have been at Winterfell.” She tried to keep her voice calm.

She shook her head. “We would have died if we were here. With Bran and Rickon.”

“But at least one of us wouldn’t have been a traitor!” She yelled at her.

Sansa’s pitiful sobs cut through the uncomfortable silence of the room.

She wanted to console her, to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t possibly have known the consequences of her actions, but she couldn’t bring herself to. In that moment, she saw her whole life flash before her eyes. She thought of what could have been, had the incidents in King’s Landing not taken place.

“I’ll be leaving on the morrow.” She told her and walked out of the room, hating herself for it.

Sansa didn’t show up for supper. She waited for a while after finishing her supper, hoping Sansa would come. She hadn’t meant to call her a traitor. She was just a stupid little girl who had made a mistake. Leaning on the table, she closed her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Milady?”

She stirred. A guard stood in front of her, a troubled expression on his face.

“You had best come with me, milady.”

There was a throng of guards, maids and servants around Sansa’s bedchamber. All of them had the same look on their faces. It was only when she approached the bed that she realized why.

Sansa lay on the bed, unmoving. An empty vial of sweetsleep sat on the bedside table.

 _No._ She held her head in her quivering hands. Her eyes were shut. _You were all I had left_. _Why did you leave me all alone?_ She cried and cried, cursing herself for her words. _I should never have said those things_. The kindly man had the right of it in the end. _If not you, someone else will give the gift_. Her face looked so calm. She could be sleeping, oblivious to the world around her. Even in death, she looked beautiful. “Forgive me, sister.” She whispered, kissing her gently on the brow.

They had her buried in the crypts, next to her own tomb. That very night, she rode out of Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little dark. Sorry if you didn't like it.
> 
> This will be the penultimate chapter in this fic. Since I'm new to this forum and to writing in general, any advice would go a long way in helping me on any fics I may write in the future. Thanks for reading.


	11. Cersei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. Thanks for the positive response. Please share your views below.

Torch in hand, she made her way deep into the bowels of Casterly Rock.

“Your Grace, I would exercise caution.” Qyburn spoke from behind her.

“Nonsense. This was my home once. We’ll be perfectly fine.” He had become quite annoying of late. She liked to think that the only reason she kept him around was because of his potentially useful scientific knowledge, but it was probably because she had no one else to talk to.

They reached the bottom. The dank smell was hard to shake off. No one had been here for years. She waved her torch around at the cages along the walkway.

“This is where we used to keep the lions.” She told him.

“I had heard tales in my youth.” He remarked. “Your Grace, I –“

“Not a queen anymore, am I?” She turned to look at him. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Though, she would admit, she had grown rather fond of it. _Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful_. She had heard word of the dragon queen making her way west to reclaim her father’s throne. _Is this what the prophecy meant?_ The words of Maggy the Frog had come true so far. She had married the king, become the queen and raised three children, all of whom were dead before their time. _But the son was the one to overthrow me, not the sister_. She supposed prophecies could be wrong every once in a while.

The Tyrells had sided with the Targaryen Prince when all seemed lost. With no allies and no family, Cersei was left with no choice but to flee. To where Jaime had disappeared, the gods alone knew. The last she had heard of him was over a year back, when he was reported to have been riding in the Riverlands with that gigantic wench from Tarth. The sweetest bit of information she remembered receiving since she left King’s Landing was of the death of Sansa Stark. She had been successful, even if the venture had dug a deep hole into her finances, deep enough to leave her penniless. _At least I avenged Joffrey_. She had also heard word that the younger sister had miraculously returned from the dead. That was the steward’s girl, most like. Or is this one the wild wolf? It didn’t matter. _How long would she last by herself?_

The supper was modest. _At least they had good wine_. Thankfully, there were still a few houses from the Westerlands which were loyal to the Lannisters. A steady income kept flowing. Apart from the Rock, she had nothing to her name. The gold mines had run dry. She was the Lioness of the Rock only by name. _At least I’ll be safe within its confines_.

She made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber, using the wall as support. _I have grown old. Old and fat_. She was out of breath by the time she reached the top. She would have to talk to the steward about clearing out Uncle Kevan’s old room downstairs. If she had to make this climb every day, her heart would likely give out soon. Breathing heavily, she pushed open the doors to her bedchamber and barred the door behind her.

Someone was already there, pointing a crossbow at her.

 

* * *

 

 

Blood flowed copiously from her thigh. The bolt had lodged itself deep into her flesh. Her good knee buckled under her weight and she fell to the floor in a heap. “Guards!” she screamed. “GUARDS!!”

“They can’t hear you.” A soft voice spoke. She turned to look at her.

“Who are you?” she growled.

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize my face, Cersei.” She walked towards her, dropping the crossbow and lowering her hood.

Cersei looked closely. The girl in front of her was the spitting image of the woman who beat her to both Rhaegar and Robert. She started feeling light-headed, presumably from loss of blood. _No, that can’t be possible_. Lyanna Stark died. Her bones were buried in the crypts beneath Winterfell. And this girl was young. She couldn’t be older than sixteen. _Unless…_

“You – you’re the younger sister.” She spoke feebly. “Arya.”

She bristled at that, but her face was stone, revealing nothing.

“You prayed to the Many-Faced God for Sansa’s death, yes?” She asked her, grey eyes blazing in the torchlight.

Her vision was fading, turning blurry. “How do you know that?”

She didn’t see where the knife came from. The girl stabbed her in the shoulder, sending a jolt through her nerves. She bit her tongue, drawing blood.

“If it’s any consolation, I would have killed you anyways.”

“I – I don’t understand. You – you were d-dead.” She clutched her shoulder with her good hand. The pain was excruciating.

 She had a deathly look about her. “Arya Stark is dead.”

“Well, then who the hell are _you?_ ” she shrieked.

She grabbed her short hair, pulling her up to her knees, and brought the cold blade at her throat. _Younger, and more beautiful...._

“No one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was the final chapter in this fic. Hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> I do intend to write my next fic soon. Haven't yet decided what it's going to be, but I have some ideas. And to answer your question, NO, I do not think Arya will end up being no one in the books. I just thought it would be cool to explore it from this angle. Thanks for reading.


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